


The Harry Potter Show

by hymns_to_alien_stars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1930s, Gen, Master of Death Harry Potter, but not in a fun way, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hymns_to_alien_stars/pseuds/hymns_to_alien_stars
Summary: Death brings Harry Potter to an orphanage.Tom Riddle meets a girl like himself, or so he thinks in the beginning.There are years between the first event and the second.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Death, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (I've thought of this story by reading the premise (well, and the story) of The Girl by itsjustsilver, in case you are wondering why that piece of the summary is similar.)

Mrs Swarth finishes the last piece of paperwork on the transfer to the Worcester Orphan Asylum for Robert Elsner and stretched. It is a long day. The children are either excited or scared by last week events, and both the former and the latter require more supervision than usual.

She turns the light off but hears knocking a moment later. It is a very measured knock: three times then a pause, several times, in a rhythm that feels incomplete.

Mrs Swarth goes to the door and opens it.

First, she sees a beautiful woman. Pale skin, exquisite green eyes. She has a hood on but you can see curly black hair picking out. Perfect face except for a strange scar on her forehead - shaped like a lightning bolt, it runs across her brow.

For a few seconds, Mrs Swarth stands there, transfixed. Then a woman speaks.

“I want to get rid of my child,” she says, “Take her.” 

She nudges forward a girl that looks like her copy, including the scar. The girl looks displeased but not upset. Mrs Swarth stares at her, her brain trying to catch up: this isn't how most (or any) visits to the orphanage go.

“Her name is Lily." The woman thrusts a small bag at her and she takes it involuntarily, otherwise it would surely fell to the floor. "Here, take this.” The bag is heavy. “It’s gold.”

Mrs Swarth blinks at her. “Madam, I’m not sure what…” But the woman is already going away. “Madam!” She clearly has no intention of going back.

Mrs Swarth sighs. Even if the woman’s behaviour is unusual, the situation isn't. A lot of children are left at the orphanage, parents promising that it’s “temporary”. Some are left at the doorstep but those are usually babies, this one looks like she is three. 

Mrs Swarth glances down and finds the girl thoughtfully looking at the bag.

“Lily, come inside,” she says and closes the door. The woman will probably never return for her child but at least it had been clear by her appearance that there is no need to get the police involved and she did leave money - that, on the opening of the bag, turns out to be actual golden coins.

The girl glances around the room with a detached sort of curiosity, Mrs Swarth notes, taking the place behind her table and pulling out the required paperwork. Lily doesn't seem bothered at all by her mother leaving her in an orphanage, a thing that would disturb a lot of other children, and Mrs Swarth sees a lot of them: they cry, they refuse to leave the doorstep, they get angry, they pleade that surely their parent will return for them and they aren't _really_ orphans.

“So, Lily-” she starts but gets interrupted right away.

“My name isn’t Lily,” the girl says.

Mrs Swarth blinks. Were the things not as simple as they seemed? “Did your mother lied about your name?” Wasn’t that unusual, she supposes, if the woman didn’t want to be found.

“My name is Harry.”

“You mean, Harriet?” asks Mrs Swarth, frowning. While 'Harry’ is a nickname for ‘Harriet’, why would a girl use a boy’s name introducing herself?

The girl shakes her head. “Just Harry.”

Mrs Swarth decides to continue and deal with the name issue later. “And your surname?”

The girl takes her time with the question. The matron reminds herself that the girl is only three - why is she so sure about that? and what is wrong with their conversation if the girl is three? but the thoughts blinks out of her head a second later.

“Moon,” she says finally.

“Harry… Moon.” Mrs Swarth finally catches up to what is going on. The girl simply wants to invent a new, whimsical name for herself, though what is wrong with ‘Lily Moon’, the matron can't guess. Maybe the girl wished to erase her mother, hurt by her action.

However, Mrs Swarth can't place the wrong name in the documents to indulge her: the woman could return and stir trouble if she didn't find ‘Lily’ in the orphanage. Record-keeping is important.

“Lily,” the matron folds her hands in front of her. “We need to have your correct surname on paper. Your other relatives might look for you.” She finds it unlikely, but nevertheless. “It’s wrong to tell lies.”

Something shifts behind the girl’s eyes. “Well, you don’t know if it isn’t my actual surname. _Why don’t you believe me?_ ”

Mrs Swarth suddenly wonders why she doubted the girl; of course, it is her name. The matron shakes her head to relieve a feeling of pressure and writes down ‘Lily Moon’ in sharp cursive. When she looks up, the girl is frowning. “Is something wrong, Lily?”

Lily slumps in her chair. Any other day, Mrs Swarth would remind her of the proper posture but the girl had a difficult day.

“Brilliant acting,” says Harry with heavy sarcasm when the door closes behind Mrs Swarth and he is alone. Well, as alone as he can be nowadays. “Take my child, here is the money.”

Death appears before him, smirking. “It worked, didn’t it?” He seems genuinely interested in the answer to his next question. “Where did ‘Moon’ even come from?”

“Well. It’s Sailor Orphanage, isn’t it?” Harry fidgets then forces himself to be still. “It’s a show from 1990s about magical girls…” Death starts grinning again. “Never mind that.” Harry sighs. “I couldn’t use ‘Potter’ for obvious reasons, my second thought was ‘Evans’ but there would be Lily Evans at some point. I’ll not be messing with the future.” Even though he doesn't hold much hope that he isn't here for exactly that reason. “Then - Sailor Moon, and it didn’t seem such a bad idea.” Harry looks at Death, warily. “Why Lily? Why this body?”

Death seems to shrug, the gesture made somehow absurd by his form. “She died recently,” Harry flinches, “was the right age and general look. And,” Death stares somewhere past his shoulder, “it will be fun to see you struggle.”

Harry drops his head in his hands and sighs.

Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, ever since dying, he thought his life will finally be normal. Year after year, however, an infamous Potter luck seemed to emerge and get him into more and more ridiculous adventures; he went out of his apartment - there was a plot to kill a politician and the conspirators exchanged valuable information in his earshot, he read a book - and it contained a clue to his current investigation, he arranged a holiday to the beach - there was a coven of prehistorical vampires that worshipped the sun god and wanted him for the rune on his face. It was getting ridiculous, he wasn’t a character in a book, not his every action needed to result in something bigger. Hermione said he was falling for some kind of fallacy the name of which Harry didn’t remember but he got that she didn’t believe him. And then, there was Death, saying that Harry had become boring and the change of scenery was in order.

When Harry collects himself, Death is already gone, no doubt bored by the silence, and he notes that Death didn’t answer his question about the name. He has some guesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “turned the light off”: How plausible is that Sailor Orphanage has electricity? *makes a so-so gesture* Well, it was on the rise in the 1920s in USA (~ 85% of homes by the end of the decade). Please correct me if I’m wrong.
> 
> How to tag for ‘Death gave me a body but was too lazy to give a fuck about gender’?
> 
> Sailor Orphanage - Sailor Orphan Girls School that stopped being only a girl school at some point.
> 
> Warning: I tag as I write.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please refer to the endnotes for the trigger warnings.

The room doesn’t have a mirror so Harry can’t see himself properly but there are obvious thighs he doesn’t need a mirror for.

The body feels weak, and distant half-forgotten memories of starvation by Dursleys come to mind, how he was afraid that he won’t be fed but fought anyway, being reckless or brave or stupid. Harry thanks the universe that he doesn’t feel any remnants of how the girl died, save the familiar hunger pains, though she probably had it worse: he could sneak food out of the kitchen when Petunia wasn’t watching.

The skin on the palms is rough, with little scars here and there.

Harry doesn’t like that he could guess they were from a knife, it makes him dizzy to recall that he had the same scars when he was four, when Mrs Dursley decided that was enough lazing about and the boy needed to earn his keep.

All the similarities feel surreal and Harry tells himself it was all an accident, that Death didn’t pick a particular body, that he himself was not raised in the slums of London in the 1920s but middle-class suburbs and, despite the absurdly cruel upbringing, never had to worry about money. His four-year-old self, though, can’t see the difference.

It’s just that this girl happened to die right before they arrived here.

Harry hugs himself and tries to breathe.

In, out.

Don’t think about death, don’t think about  _ the body _ . It’s alive. It’s fine.  _ He  _ is fine.

The arms are thin and marked with pink finger-shaped bruises. They are new, not even purpling yet. Harry swallows and closes his eyes. Right. He is going to bed.

It is cold and Harry snuggles into the blanket, hoping to preserve body heat for a bit longer. Judging by the sunlight, soon he’d be getting out of bed and meeting all the delightful people of the Sailor Moon Orphanage (Harry doubts they could be worse than the Dursleys).

Death didn’t give him any hint as to how he was expecting to be entertained by Harry being here.

The matron is fine. The kids are alright. The food is edible. He thinks that it doesn’t bode well for him.

After breakfast, he slips away and finds a mirror. He looks small for his age again (three, Death said), with dark hair and avada-green eyes that are obviously magicked on, even his own didn’t look so eerie. The colour has depth that Avada Kedavra spell doesn’t but it only makes the eyes more noticeable. The arms look worse, the bruises a stark purple. Harry presses a finger to one of them, it didn’t hurt. He frowns.

The matron finds him there, fake-smiles and leads to the storage room. There, he gets a uniform - greys and dark blues - and other clothes. The matron looks him up and down and chooses something herself, not even asking for his opinion. He is told to change.

Next discovery: the room he stayed in last night was not, in fact, his. It is a punishment room, an equivalent of solitary confinement: you get stuck there for stealing food, causing scenes and not doing your share of chores. Harry nods as a sign that he understands, even though the room is quite nice, in his opinion: a dozen times better than a cupboard.

“Here, that’s where you’ll sleep,” says the matron opening the door to another room filled in two rows of tidy beds. “Isn’t it nice?”

The room is painted a sunny yellow colour and well-lit, with its windows to the east. Each bed (eight of them) has a tiny nightstand. It all looks very impersonal. There is a shelf half-filled with toys and books.

The matron notices his glance at the toys and smiles warmly for the first time. “Dolls after I’ll get you sorted and explain the rules, dear.”

Harry tries not to roll his eyes.

Mrs Swarth shows him his bed (one of the three that looks even less slept-in than the others) and watches him fold his clothes approvingly.

Then, he is given a duster and sent on his way. Harry suspects that it is simply to keep him busy and out of the way of other girls doing actual chores. Or not, he thinks after seeing a little girl collecting dirty towels into a tub.

What can three-year-olds do that doesn’t bore adults to death? Not much, it turns out. The chores get more complicated as the days progress, Harry notices, but the matron isn’t as unreasonable as to let him actually cook or do laundry or help at the library.

The library, yes: books classified loosely by age, five narrow shelves, one older girl that looks down at you, writes down your name, title and date, then returns to her own reading. Harry wants the job but he would have trouble with convincing people he can read and write - the latter, as it turns out, he actually can’t do.

He finds that out when he tries to write down a list of ‘suspects’: everyone even a little bit suspicious. Thankfully to his current inability to write, however, the phrase ‘Kate - weird drawings’ stays only on his mind. Kate is five. She might or might not have drawn a dementor.

After discovering he can’t write, Harry certainly does draw more conspicuous things than black shapes. He hasn’t improved much since he was eleven: his people are still stick figures, now with shaky lines and colours spilling over borders. His snitch resembles a circle only in a loose definition of one, with triangular wings. Harry tilts his head. It can pass for a cartoon raven if he adds eyes (dots) and legs (a forked line). 

His fine motor skills aren’t fine and promise to stay that way for quite some time.

His speech, strangely, is much better: Harry has to remember to tone it down and try to stay silent as much as possible, which means that his reputation as a dollhouse playmate is low. He simply does not have enough imagination to make a fake tea party or a tree branch fight interesting and lacks the patience (and the motivation) to pretend.

His reputation with older girls is even shakier. He has an argument with Dorothy, the library girl, about whether or not he can read and what name should be written down for the book (fairytales; at least he hadn’t read much of them in his actual childhood so they might be marginally entertaining).

After Harry reads the first passage aloud, Dorothy even looks impressed.

“Lily, right?” she says, picking up her pencil. “I like your name.”

“It’s Harry, actually,” he corrects her, irritated.

She blinks at him. “Mrs Swarth said…” A pencil breaks down in her fingers and Dorothy jumps in surprise. She picks up the pencil and doesn’t fight him about his name anymore.

Betty is much less agreeable.

“No, it’s  _ Lily _ , I asked Mrs Swarth,” Harry has to remind himself that she is seven. She pouts, helping him.

Margaret who is older than the oldest girls but much younger than Mrs Swarth, stops by and tells him to stop. Several complaints, apparently, reached her ears, and he was confusing the younger kids: Mary made a scene because she wanted to be called Geraldine.

He tells Margaret that Geraldine is a very pretty name, in his opinion.

She slaps him.

The window breaks into a waterfall of glass and falls on them. Margaret barely covers her face with her hands, the skin is covered in tiny cuts.

Harry runs away.

He sneaks out the back door and, with a wish, he is on the tree branch - only it’s November and the leaves have fallen long ago. He feels exposed. He closes his eyes and holds on.

Breath in, breath out.

Accidental magic. Probably not even something Death had a hand in.

Harry tries to remember, it’s been so long since he had performed magic without his wand: not since he got his Hogwarts letter, he doesn’t think so. He could do accidental Silencio, Notice-Me-Not, sometimes Alohomora. His accidental magic wasn’t violent, the worst he can remember is paining the teacher’s hair blue for assuming he copied Dudley’s homework. No, that isn’t right, he turned Marge into a balloon, but he was  _ really  _ angry.

It’s probably because of him being a child with adult control, Harry supposes. He has better communication with his magic, and it is his magic, not the girl’s (he shivers slightly), it feels familiar: it’s quick, feels cold in a way wet things do and burns right before he lets go. 

Merlin help him, he might have to learn Occlumency for real.

At least he gets a night in a single room out of this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! TW child abuse, starvation. Past, present, not graphic.


End file.
